


Can It Be You Fear to Die?

by TheGrandeursOfDespair



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Drink With Me, Gen, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 20:03:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1239100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGrandeursOfDespair/pseuds/TheGrandeursOfDespair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Enjolras, I cannot promise you that I will be a great help to you in the battle. I cannot promise you that I will not pass out drunk somewhere in the midst of it, but what I can promise you, is that I will be here for it all. I will not abandon the group and I will not abandon you, Apollo.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can It Be You Fear to Die?

**Author's Note:**

> So I recently saw the stage version of Les Miserables and the interaction between Enjolras and Grantire during Drink With Me just got me thinking and this was born! I am absolutely in love with their relationship and just love exploring different aspects of it and how different actors interpret it.
> 
> Not slash, but I guess you could interpret it that way if you want.
> 
> This is my first Fanfic ever so constructive critism would be greatly appreciated!

It didn’t look good.

The people had yet to rise as they were expected to and without them there was no hope. Enjolras knew this. He also knew that he had to keep morale up amongst the men, or there would be even less. He tried to reassure them all, to tell them that the people would rise and join in the fight, ensuring their victory, but even he wasn’t so sure anymore. It was looking more and more hopeless for every hour that passed and they were still on their own. He just hoped his men didn’t feel the same way.

Enjolras was pleased when Feuilly started passing around a bottle of wine and speaking of days gone by. While Enjolras did not excel at comforting people Fueuilly always did, and he could always count on Les Amis to know exactly what to say in cases such as these. He leaned forward on his musket and had the smallest hint of a smile on his face as he listened to Fueuilly speak of songs, and Jehan and Joly speak of the girls they had known. He did not expect Grantaire to join in as he did, yet he was pleased that he was participating in something other than his bottle and his nihilism. For a moment at least.

 _“Drink with me, to days gone by. Can it be, you fear to die?”_  
Enjolras looked up at this. It was not that he was surprised by the question itself. They were all scared. Even the leader, Enjolras himself, feared what death might bring, but he knew that in order to free France, sacrifices had to be made. If there was a chance that his death could make even the slightest difference in the state of his beloved Patria and better the lives of the people then he would give his life in an instant. But hearing Grantaire express his fear out loud was unexpected.

This was Grantaire. He was a cynic, and a drunkard, and he believed in absolutely nothing, but the one thing that Grantaire never was, was afraid. He was much like Enjolras in that respect.

Even when their demonstrations and protests got out of hand and turned into full-blown riots, even when they got into skirmishes with the police and it was uncertain whether or not they would ever get to see home again, Grantaire never showed any signs of fear. He always managed to keep all of his emotions locked up behind his jovial façade. His face the picture of calmness and drunken merriness. Hearing Grantaire express fear with a hint of panic in his voice felt unnatural.

 _“Will the world remember you when you fall?”_  
Upon hearing this, Enjolras’s confusion was replaced with anger. It was one thing for Grantaire to insult the revolution in the comfort of the Musain, when their most pressing issues were recruiting more people and the site of the next demonstration, but to say it on the barricade, in front of the men who were already fearful of what was to come without Grantaire proclaiming the meaninglessness and finality of it all was inexcusable.

Enjolras began walking towards Grantaire, glaring holes into his back. As if he could feel his stare, Grantaire turned around and met his gaze, a mixture of anger and pain swirling around in his dark brown eyes. Grantaire never broke eye contact with Enjolras as he spoke his next line, almost as if he was directing it at Enjolras, “Could it be your life means nothing at all?”

He visibly deflated, and the anger in his eyes was replaced with fear and sorrow, _“Is your life just one more lie?”_

Grantaire’s gaze fell to his feet, and he began to walk away, back towards the Corinthe for sure, but Enjolras grabbed his arm as he walked past. He fully intended on chewing the wine cask out for what he had said, but the look in Grantaire’s eyes caused the words to die in his throat. He looked terrified, the most serious and sober that Enjolras had ever seen him.

“I do not want to die, Enjolras. I do not want you to die, I do not want any of us to die.”

Grantaire refused to meet Enjolras’s eyes as he was speaking, and the words tore at his heart. He had always wished for Grantaire to be serious but not in this way. Enjolras’s marble mask fell, and was replaced with sorrow for his fearful friend. He placed his hand gently on Grantaire’s shoulder to grab his attention, and replied softly, “I know, mon ami,” the word, never having been directed at Grantaire before, brought his gaze to Enjolras’s instantly. “None of us wish to to die, but if that is what is necessary for the salvation of France then we are all willing to make that sacrifice.”

Grantaire nodded minutely and stared down at his feet.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras began, pausing when Grantaire refused to look at him. He placed his hand at the nape of Grantaire’s neck and squeezed gently to get his attention. When he finally looked up his eyes shone with unshed tears and Enjolras had to fight to keep his composure. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Enjolras spoke once more, “Grantaire, if you do not wish to fight then no one, not I nor anybody else, would think any less of you for leaving.”

Grantaire’s looked abhorred at Enjolras’s proposal and replied instantly, “No. I will not leave you here.”

Enjolras was taken aback by the conviction in Grantaire’s voice. The only other time he had sounded so sure of himself was when Grantaire had told him he believed in him. “Are you sure?” he said. “You know what could happen, how this could end.”

Grantaire straightened up, and had a determined look in his eyes. “Yes,” he proclaimed. “Enjolras, I cannot promise you that I will be a great help to you in the battle. I cannot promise you that I will not pass out drunk somewhere in the midst of it, but what I can promise you, is that I will be here for it all. I will not abandon the group and I will not abandon you, Apollo.”

Allowing the use of the nickname, just this once, Enjolras smiled one of his rare, angelic, smiles, and put his arm around Grantaire’s shoulders. “I am glad to hear you say that, mon ami,” he said, and they walked back to the barricade together, preparing for what would be, the final day of their lives.

* * *

 

The following day, a drunken Grantaire was woken by silence, for noise does not rouse a drunken man, silence awakens him. The young man found himself surrounded by death, by the bodies of those who were dearest to him, and facing the backs of a firing squad with their guns all trained on his marble leader, who was standing by the wall with his head held high and defiance in his eyes.

Grantaire, in his drunken slumber, had been mistaken for one of the dead, and left alone. He knew very well that if he were to return to his previous position, he would likely make it out of the battle unscathed, but that would entail leaving his leader to die alone.

Driven by admiration and the promise that he made the previous night, Grantaire did what some would call foolishness, but what others would call love. _“Vive la République!”_ he cried, drawing the attention of the National Guard and a surprised Enjolras to him for the first time. “I am one of them. Finish us both at one blow.” Grantaire walked past the guards to stand by his leader, whose marble façade had fallen and been replaced by pure shock. “Do you permit it?” Enjolras’s expression turned to pride, and he pressed Grantaire’s hand with a smile. “I told you I would not abandon you, Apollo.”

The last thing that Grantaire saw before the firing squad took their lives, was Enjolras, the boy who had scorned him for so many years, smiling at him, with love in his eyes.


End file.
